Page 13 of The Fixer

“Her foot in an eight-hundred-dollar sneaker. Or a red stiletto.”

“Come again?”

“How could she be Helene’s daughter? She’s from a completely different gene pool. Helene was the female counterpart to the Pillsbury Doughboy.”

“What’s the other daughter look like? I never got a good look at her.”

“I had to go over there a few times while she was taking care of her mom, and she’s the spitting image of Helene … when Helene was alive, of course.”

“Of course,” Noah replied dryly.

Charlie tipped his head toward Joy, whose nose was glued to her notebook. “Look at her! She’s all snooty high-rise Chicago big-city girl. She struts around town in her expensive clothes, blows past the speed limits like they don’t apply to her, and generally throws her weight around … as if she has any to throw.”

“Wow! Shereallypissed you off. How fast was she going?”

“What?”

“You said she blew past the speed limit. How much?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t have my radar gun on me at the time. Five, ten miles over.”

“So she was going a whole twenty to twenty-five miles an hour.” Noah mock-whistled. He stole a glance at the object of Charlie’s ire. “She reminds me of a skinny Zoe Saldana.”

“What?”Charlie had a serious crush on Zoe Saldana—he’d even set up his screen savers with images of the actress—and Noah knew it. “Nowyou’retrying to piss me off. Not gonna work, bro.”

“I’m not trying to piss you off. Look at her. She has the same long, dark hair and that tan complexion. I think her eyes are a prettier color than Zoe’s, though. Kind of a light brown with gold.”

“Does Hailey know you’re checking out the customers?”

“I’m not checking her out. I just notice things. That’s what good bartenders do. Now listen and learn. See the guy at the other end of the bar? What branch of the military do you think he served in?”

“How do you know he was in the military?”

Dixie poked her head between them, and they both jerked in place. “Boys? Are we all done discussing customers? Can you get back to filling their drink orders before they take it out onmeand short my tips?”

“You’re hostessing tonight,” Noah pointed out. “They don’t give you tips.”

She perched a hand on her ample hip and gave each one of themthe look.

“Yeah, sure,” they replied in unison. Dixie was Noah’s manager, and even though she was playing hostess tonight, there was never any doubt at any time that she was in charge.

Charlie returned to his station just as Hailey slid a hamburger plate piled high with sweet potato fries in front of Joy. Joy thanked her and immediately picked up the half-pounder and chomped into it like she hadn’t eaten in three months. Ketchup and juice from the meat dripped down her chin. Setting the burger back on the plate, she closed her eyes as if she was in the throes of ecstasy and followed this up with a prim dab at her mouth. She jotted in her notebook and attacked the burger all over again, methodically repeating the steps, pausing occasionally to shovel in a fistful of fries.

Charlie watched covertly, unsure why Joy Holiday chowing down mesmerized him; it was completely at odds with her buttoned-up personality. Something about her gusto when she tackled the burger was sexy as sin, though, and before he could stop it, his mind zoomed to whether she was as voracious in bed.

Where the fuck hadthatcome from?

From your neglected libido, dude.It had been too long, but he had solid reasons for sticking with celibacy.

Admonishing himself for his mind’s detour down Sex Lane, he got back to work, looking over from time to time to see her either writing or talking to Neve. Well, Neve talked—more and more with each margarita—and Joy listened, chiming in on occasion without once cracking a smile. He wasn’t sure her facial muscles were even equipped for it. The woman was a stone wall … until Micky waltzed in.

It was after nine by then, the kitchen was closed, and the out-of-town diners were gone. This was the time the locals took over, and though the pace slowed, the place grew rowdier. Sometimes Charlie sat at the bar andbent elbows with the regulars, but mostly he went home and unwound with his dogs. That plan derailed the minute Micky set his eyes on Joy.

With the usual smarmy smile plastered on his face, Micky sauntered over to Joy and Neve. “Why, hello, ladies,” he greeted in a buttery voice.

After introductions, Neve explained to Joy, “Micky owns the town’s garage.”

Micky was the epitome of a Fall River resident. He’d been born there, grew up there, and knew everyone. He was also a barfly and a manwhore-wannabe with a sweet girlfriend who put up with his crap for reasons no one understood. Charlie had always heard there was someone for everyone. If that was true, it seemed unfair a guy like Micky had been allotted a someone. Right now his boyhood friend was turning his charm—if one could call it that—on Joy Holiday.

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